


Controlled Burn

by Tawryn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, Dubious Consent, F/M, Knifeplay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, This fic is dark and full of terrors, Torture, there’s just a whole lot of kinks in this guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tawryn/pseuds/Tawryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You haven’t taught me how to hold up under torture yet.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“We’ll get to that. It’s fun.”</i>
</p>
<p>(or the other way Skye found out Ward was HYDRA)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Controlled Burn

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was supposed to be funny and light and wow, ended up so, _so_ far away from that. 
> 
> Warnings for dub-con; any negotiation happens off-screen and likely without clearly defined perimeters. Also, torture. Yes, this is a 3k torture scene. I'M NOT SORRY.
> 
> I owe [laurakaye](http://archiveofourown.org/users/laurakaye/pseuds/Laura%20Kaye) a million thanks for helping me whip this into shape. I touched up a few things after watching 1x20 (but don't worry, no spoilers) so any mistakes you find are my own.

 

“Two minutes.”

“What, that’s it?”

“That’s a pretty realistic warning. Sometimes you don’t even get that much.”

“Okay, fair point.”

“If it gets too intense and you want to stop, you can say ‘red’ at any time, okay?”

“Are you giving me a _safeword?_ You’re adorable, Ward.”

Ward just rolls his eyes. “Hide it somewhere good.”

Skye’s heartbeat starts to thud in her chest as she seeks out the best spot. She tucks the file away and works quickly, the fingers of adrenaline digging in to her stomach and radiating up, filling her with nervous energy. When Ward bangs on the door she nearly jumps out of her skin, swallowing a shaky laugh. She hears the telltale clicking of the lock being picked and the door flies open, banging against the wall.

“Aren’t you pretty,” Ward says, and any thoughts Skye had about this not feeling real are gone. “Much too pretty to die. So let’s make this easy. Where are the mission plans?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies coolly.

Ward smirks, but his eyes are flat and it comes across much more menacing that his usual. “So it’s gonna be like that, huh?”

She should’ve been expecting it, but Ward moves fast. His hands wrap around her throat just as she’s exhaling in surprise, her breath leaving a rush. To Skye’s credit, she recovers quickly though, kicking out and digging her nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood. Ward grunts when her boot connects with his knee, but even with the swells of red beading up on the back of his hands he doesn’t let go.

“Oh,” he says, dragging a thumb across her jaw. “I could have fun with you.”

His fist slams into her stomach, driving a flash of nausea through her. Skye lets herself go limp and twists, breaking free and striking out with her legs. She keeps her center of gravity low, like she practiced with May, and manages to flip Ward onto his back. While he’s down, she climbs on top of him and lets loose, getting three solid punches in before she loses the advantage. Her fists are stinging, but it’s good to feel something outside of her for once, a pain that has nothing to do with the uncertainty and panic that’s gripped her for days. Ward surges up, rolling her over in a motion so fluid she’s not sure it’s happened until she’s staring at the floorboards, feeling his weight sitting heavily on her spine.

“Yeah,” he breathes against the back of her neck. “We’re gonna have lots of fun.”

Skye hears a zipper and the rustling of _something_ , she’s not sure, she can’t see, but she doesn’t have long to guess before Ward is wrenching her hands back and tying them together at the small of her back. He picks her up and deposits her bodily in a chair, his movements quick and efficient as her binds her calves to the wooden legs.  A warm, familiar feeling is building in Skye’s gut, slow and syrupy. She breathes out—really not the time doesn’t _begin_ to cover it—and tries to focus.

“Now, I’ll ask you again,” Ward says. Skye flexes her limbs and pulls at the ropes, but there’s no slack. “Where are the mission plans?”

“I’d rather die than tell you,” she says, lacing it with more menace than she really feels.

“No, you wouldn’t. In fact, you’re going to be begging to tell me by the time I’m done with you. Why not just save yourself the trouble?” He leans down until there’s only inches between them. “Tell me now and I’ll let you go.”

Skye spits in his face. She’s never done that to anyone before. It feels pretty damn good.

“Cute,” says Ward, wiping it away.

He slaps her across the face, one cheek then the other, hard. Pain flares bright and hot, and she hisses through her teeth. He’s not holding back. It gives her an odd sense of satisfaction; she’s been handled with kid gloves since Quinn shot her, but this is different. She didn’t choose that pain.

“Want to try that again?” he says lightly. “Be my guest.”

Skye’s face is throbbing and her eyes are stinging, but weirdly, it’s good. She feels like everything’s dialed up to eleven, the pain making her clear and focused. Then the ache starts to fade, coalesces with the heat building between her legs, and it brings a new wave of humiliation. She bites her lip and looks down at the floor.

“I knew you were a smart girl.” Ward wraps his fingers in her hair and pulls back roughly, as far as he can, exposing the length of her neck. “Now tell me where the mission plans are.”

Skye stays silent, staring up into Ward’s eyes. They’re dark and cold and even though he warned her, she’s surprised at how very genuine this feels, how easy it is to believe Ward is the enemy, how much he’d enjoy making her hurt and scream. She hears the click of metal outside of view and fear jumps in her stomach.

“Want a little incentive?”

She gasps when she feels the tip of the knife, sharp and cool against her throat. Her heartbeat thunders against her ribs, chest heaving as Ward drags it down slowly, coming to rest at the hollow between her collarbones. She swallows and releases a shaky breath. He’s too gentle to break the skin and it’s insane, the feel of it almost tickles, and Skye can’t help wishing he would just _do_ it already, looking from the knife to Ward as she wets her lips.

“Are you enjoying this?”

Ward’s face has changed, somehow darker, and Skye can’t, this isn’t—she just _can’t_. “Why would I be enjoying this, you sick fuck?” It’s a deflection and Ward’s smirk says it all.

“I think you are.” Ward lets go of her and leans in to whisper in her ear. “So who’s really the sick fuck here?”

He brings the knife down harder and Skye hisses as the sting blooms. Ward cuts through her top, slicing a thin line through her skin as he goes, splitting her open with a delicious hurt. Skye can’t move, her arms and legs are still bound, so there’s nothing to do but watch as Ward pushes her shirt back, revealing her bra and the trail of blood welling up over her chest and stomach. He doesn’t take his eyes off her face as flips the knife, dragging it spine-down and stopping above her breasts. She makes a tiny noise in her throat as he gently lifts one strap and saws through it, the elastic snapping against her skin as it separates. Ward does the same to the other side and suddenly her breath seems loud in the quiet room.

Ward sets the knife down on her lap and just the feel of it, so close to where she’s growing wet, sends a jolt of desire through her. He runs his hands over her tops of her breasts like a contradiction, soft and sweet, before tugging her bra down and leaning forward to breathe against her skin. He puts his mouth on her and teases, giving her the edge of teeth and hot strokes of tongue, and then he brings a hand up and softly traces the length of a cut before pressing in roughly, smearing her blood with a smile she feels more than sees. Skye curses, fuck, it’s white-hot and wonderful, she doesn’t know whether to push into it or pull away, so she settles for clenching her fists behind her until she feels the bite of her nails against her palms.   

Ward hums and pulls away. “For someone who’s not enjoying this, I sure don’t hear you telling me to stop.”

“I’d rather save my breath,” she rasps. Ward reaches down and picks up the knife.

“Right,” he says, trailing the knife over the swell of her breast. The point lands on her nipple, a tiny pinprick of pain that collides against a throb of want. “For the begging.”

He replaces the knife with his fingers, twisting and pulling until Skye cries out, a high broken noise bubbling out of her throat before she can stop it. Ward lets go and kneels in front of her, moving his hands to stroke over her thighs.

“Shhh. Just let it out.”

“Fuck. You.”

Ward brushes a finger against her thin pants, feeling the heat and wetness there, and looks up at her with a dark grin. He brings the knife up and a thud of fear paralyzes her.

“You must be uncomfortable,” he says in a low voice. “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

The rope digs in tighter when Skye tries to pull away; there’s not a lot of give but Ward still manages to push her legs wider, slipping the knife under her waistband to saw through the seam. Her breath is burning in her chest and it’s only when he moves the knife away to tear at the fabric that she releases it and sucks in a rush of air. Her whole body jerks when he rips through her pants, quickly exposing her lower half to the cool air, her skin rising in goosebumps. Ward looks at her, a hunger in his eyes as he thumbs over her underwear and it tugs at the string of desire knotted in her chest, unfurling into something more than want, something so much bigger. He strokes her with fleeting touches, maddeningly soft, and it just makes the counterpoint of the knife dancing and scraping along the inside of her legs that much sharper. Ward pushes harder against her clit and she gasps as the press of the knife grows harder too. When he cuts her underwear away, Skye can’t help thinking, _finally_ , his fingers quickly returning to stroke and burn. He switches hands and uses the knife to make two deliberate cuts in her skin, slow and shallow, but they’re right over her femoral and the lick of danger only increases the upward ratchet of fear and desperate need. She feels her orgasm building, the rush of it rising up, and then Ward pulls away suddenly. He wipes his fingers on the tattered remains of her pants.

“Feel like talking yet?”

Skye stares into his eyes and says nothing.

“Didn’t think so,” Ward says. “You don’t seem like the type to take an out.”

He’s reminding her that she has a safeword, she thinks. Or challenging her not to use it. Either way, her mouth stays pressed in a hard line. She can do this.

“No,” Ward says, slow and thoughtful. “No, you’d rather suffer.”

Skye closes her eyes and breathes. The focus from before is gone now, replaced by muddy want and dulling pain, but it’s drowning out everything else too and that’s good. More than good.

“If this is the best you’ve got,” she says, surprised at how wrecked she sounds. “I’m really unimpressed.”

Ward laughs, dark and soft. His hand connects with her face solidly, the heat lighting up her bones and she has to shake her head to clear it. Then the knife is back, pulling her skin apart and Ward’s chasing it with his nails, making the hurt so much _more_. There’s a flash of lust in his eyes when he lingers over her most vulnerable areas and Skye feels it too, the danger and desire slamming together, the need to take everything inside her—all the frustration and fear and anger at the world going to shit—and bleed it out. The pain’s splitting her open with terror and need and each slice feels like it’s digging into the deepest parts of her, the darkest parts, and she thinks she’s pleading but she doesn’t know what she’s asking for. Sometime during this Ward’s slipped his fingers inside her and Skye rides them unthinkingly, glorying in the push of endorphins. Everything inside of her is building to a crescendo of pain-pleasure, more and more, and she’s going to come, she’s right there at the white-hot edge.

Ward pulls his fingers out of her and steps back and it all falls away.

“Fuck! You asshole,” she sobs, thrashing against the rope holding her down.

“Give me what I want,” he says and god, his face is so smug. “And I’ll give you what you want.”

“No.”

Something flickers across Ward’s face at her challenge, his mouth narrowing, and he just looks at her for a long moment before he turns and walks over to his bag. He pulls out a bottle, pours the contents into his hand, and Skye’s heartbeat kicks up again, a mix of excitement and dread rolling in her gut.

“If you want to play hard,” he says, and his voice may be soft but his eyes are tight at the corners. “Then that’s what you’ll get.”

He rubs his hand over the open wounds on her chest and stomach and she screams, all her nerve endings illuminated with fire. It’s too much, it feels like an inferno, burning through skin and muscle and bone, searing up her spine. When the pain finally subsides, Skye’s cheeks are wet with tears. Ward strokes a hair through her hair.

“You’re okay.” He runs his hands over her gently. “Just tell me where the mission plans are and this can all be over.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’ve been.”

He touches her softly and fuck, it’s starting to feel good again, like her synapses are mixed up, firing left and right, lighting up hurt and want. Ward grabs her and lifts her up enough to settle his boot on the chair before releasing her. It’s leather, smooth under her slick heat, and she can’t help but roll her hips a fraction to feel the slide. Immediately, Ward is grabbing her head and baring her throat, the edge of the knife sitting on her pulse point.

“I didn’t say you could do that,” he breathes into her ear, bringing the edge down her shoulder and opening her up, taking the storm inside her and turning it into something simpler. Ward leans down and licks at the flow of blood and then his mouth is on hers, surprisingly soft and tentative. Skye opens her mouth under his and she moans when she tastes it, the hot iron and fear and desire that’s bleeding out of her.

Ward pulls away, dragging his face down her neck, and the rough of his stubble feels gentle next to everything else. He groans as he sucks a mark into her skin and Skye feels hollowed, like Ward has sucked out all the parts of her that didn’t make sense and left behind only the things that do, hurt and need. He moves his boot slightly and god, it’s so good.

“Please.”

“Oh, you ready now?” he says, smirking. “Please what? Please let you ride my boot until you come?”

She’s hot with shame and lust, every inch of skin feeling like it’s been scoured in fire. Ward trails his fingers over her chest, making the pain light anew.

“Fuck, yes, please let me come,” she gasps.

“That’s what _you_ want. What _I_ want is you telling me where the mission plans are.” He picks up the bottle and pours more salt into his hands.

Skye’s twisted up inside, she must be, because she’s crying, “No, no, don’t please,” but she wants it, she wants to feel the last burn reduce her to something manageable.

Ward gives it to her.

“I’ll tell you!” she’s howling when she surfaces. “Please, just- I’ll tell you, okay?"

“Then tell me.”

She blinks. Swallows. “Bottom left drawer. Key code’s 744353.”

“Good girl.”

He kisses her again. It’s slow and sweet and it has Skye whining in the back of her throat because it’s not what she wants, and then Ward roughens it, taking everything from her until her head is spinning. She moves her hips over his boot and it doesn’t feel dirty, it just feels _right_. He’s scratching the back of her neck, her shoulder blades, all the parts of her he hasn’t yet marked and Skye swims in it, diving deep. It’s less a sting and more an all-over ache now, crashing and rolling into the bend of orgasm. It rushes through her, blood and nerves, the ceiling of what she can take and still walk out of this alive and then she dies screaming, coming apart in a whirl of pleasure.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Ward murmurs against her hair. “It’s over.”

Skye breathes and opens her eyes.

Ward kneels down to untie her legs and when he looks up at her his face is back to its normal combination—tight mouth and furrowed brow achingly familiar—but it doesn’t loosen any of the tension within her.

“I’m surprised you didn’t grab the mission plans first,” she says, because she is.

“Got a little sidetracked.” His mouth twists in a half-smile. He rubs the feeling back into her legs carefully; the endorphins are fading and Skye winces. “You did good, though. Lasted much longer than I did for my first RTI.”

“I’m a prodigy,” she drawls and Ward laughs. He stands up, rolling his neck and flexing his hands.

“Sorry if I got a little carried away.” He bends over, wiping the tears off her face and looking at her like she's something precious. It makes her feel sick. “But you told me not to go easy on you, and well… that was real. That’s how it would go.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says with a weak smile. “Better prepared than scared.”

“Right. Want me to cut your hands loose or do you want to try doing it yourself?”

“Gimme the knife, I got this.”

It’s heavy in her hands, heavier than she expects, and she turns it in her fingers until it’s in the right position to work away at the rope. Ward walks over the drawer and Skye closes her eyes, concentrating on setting herself free. She hears the beep of the keypad and waits for the inevitable bang of the icer. She didn’t have much time to rig it, and if it doesn’t work she can play it off as ingenuity, but when Ward hits the floor with a dull thud the purling in her chest finally loosens.

She opens her eyes and breathes again.

Skye’s no idiot. She may have grown up at St. Agnes and in more foster homes than she can count, but the streets were her real home. She can look into someone’s eyes and see the difference between bravado and real. She can recognize bad, good, the shades of grey. And she can see that the depths of darkness inside Ward run deep into the ground.

She wonders how she’s going to tell the team that Ward is HYDRA after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come party with me on [tumblr](http://tawryn.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
